


I miss him (but I want this)

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, the working title of this was 'dead fiances ot3', they're messy and they're broken but they're getting through it with each others' help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken night, a chance meeting at a coffee shop, a movie night, a friendship that adds up to something different--their losses have changed them but they don't define them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I miss him (but I want this)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy femslash february! This isn't what I meant to write this weekend, lol, but I hope you enjoy :D
> 
> by the way, you should thank writerdragonfly's "heartscars" for putting the thought of this threesome into my head

"Tell me," Caitlin says, and she's throwing her leg over Iris, a red hot weight settling over her thighs, and she's flopping forward, burying her nose in the crook of Iris's neck. "Tell me what you miss most."

 

Iris props her chin over Caitlin's shoulder, worms the hand not holding her glass of wine around Caitlin's waist. "I miss…" she pauses, licks her lips, closes her eyes tight against the tears that threaten, bites down hard enough that she's sure her lip turns white. "I miss having someone in the bed next to me. And I miss how he always woke up first, so that the coffee would practically be done brewing before I woke up."

 

"That's nice," Caitlin slurs ever so slightly, presses in tighter. Iris can feel something damp spread along her shirt, and it's the last straw. She pulls her chin back, presses her face into the smooth fabric of Caitlin's gorgeous dress as her chest shakes with silent sobs. "I miss him stealing my shampoo," Caitlin whispers. "I don't even know why because it's expensive and he used more than I do despite having less than a quarter of the hair I do so I'd—I'd have to replace it every—and—"

 

"Eddie always used my hairbrush," Iris tells her, disentangles herself enough to gulp down the last of the wine in her glass.

 

Caitlin pulls back, brushes at her cheeks with the blanket thrown over the back of Iris's couch—her face is swollen, eyes still teary, cheeks and nose bright red. She's not an attractive crier. She takes a gulp of her own wine, tugs her skirt higher to keep it from cutting into her thighs, and Iris leans around her as best she can, grabbing for the bottle on the coffee table.

 

Her fumbling fingers knock the bottle from the table, but there's nothing left to spill across her carpet, anyway. Her head thunks back against the couch, her eyes slide shut, and Caitlin slips off of her lap to curl in against her side, ear against Iris's breast. "Thank you for getting drunk with me," she mumbles.

 

"Wouldn't dream of making you get drunk alone," Iris murmurs back, setting her glass down on the ground as she carefully guides them horizontal—Caitlin, by far the drunker, tucked between Iris and the back of the couch to be sure she won't roll off in the night.

 

"I miss him." She tugs at Iris's dress where it's already ridden up, seeking contact and comfort and a thousand other things as she palms Iris's hip with a soft sigh.

 

Iris tucks Caitlin's head under her chin, brushes her hand over soft brown tresses. "I miss him, too."

 

Caitlin falls asleep first, her soft, rhythmic snores brushing across Iris's ear as she tries to ignore the memory of a less slender, more callused hand in the same place on her hip.

 

***

 

"You're kidding." A smile stretches across Lisa's face as Iris shrugs, a certain glitter in her eye as she sips her coffee. "You're not kidding," Lisa says, awed, slides her own coffee towards Iris as an offering. "You really did that?"

 

"He was an asshole." Iris shrugs again, tugs Lisa's coffee over to herself. She has dimples as she smiles, and Lisa feels her heart flutter, a thousand butterflies pressing against the inside of her ribcage. "And it seemed fairly unlikely that I would ever see some random guy at a concert ever again, so I told him so."

 

"Tell me more about your bad girl days," Lisa says, wistful, drops her chin into her hand and bats her eyelashes. The coffee shop bustles around them, friends and families talking and laughing and calling out drink orders, the smell of coffee thick in the air, coating Lisa in a way that she'll carry around with her all day. (A reminder of the cute stranger with the gorgeous smile.)

 

"Oh, no," Iris demurs, waves a hand. "None of my stories are that interesting; I'm sure you've got better ones." She leans back enough to glance over Lisa, smirk heavy on her face as her eyes flick back to Lisa's. "You look like the kind of girl who has a lot of stories involving questionably legal pursuits."

 

"It's the leather jacket," Lisa confides, winks, and Iris laughs.

 

"Do you, then?" she asks, curious, innocent, blissfully unaware of who she's talking to.

 

Lisa sits back, crosses one arm over her ribs, bites the opposite thumb as she debates how much to share—actual thievery, off limits, but high school vandalism, perhaps? "I had my wild days," she affirms, uncrosses her leg, brushes her foot along the inside of Iris's calf.

 

Iris hesitates in a way that almost makes Lisa apologize, take her leave, but then she slides her own foot over to Lisa's side of the table and hides her smirk in her (Lisa's) coffee, eyes dancing over the rim. "Do share, Ms…" she trails off, tilts her head to the side, expression expectant as she lowers the mug back to the table.

 

"You tell me yours, I'll tell you—"

 

"Snart?!?" Dr. Snow interrupts, eyes wide as she looks back and forth between Iris and Lisa. Her purse is clutched tight in one hand, scarf halfway unwound from around her neck, body language open, turned towards their table—she's here to meet _Iris_ , and Lisa feels a smile like a snake spreading across her lips.

 

"Snart?" Iris asks, brow furrowing, and Lisa pushes out the third chair at the table, pats it for Caitlin to take a seat.

 

"Small world, Doc," Lisa purrs, and Iris turns to Dr. Snow.

 

"Snart?" she repeats, and Snow's lips twist.

 

"Snart," she confirms.

 

"The better one," Lisa offers, steals her mug back from in front of Iris. She meets Snow's eyes, winks, pats the chair once more. "Take a seat, cutie. We can catch up—Iris wants to know some stories from my wild days, and there's a great one from just last week."

 

***

 

"I hate you."

 

Caitlin feels Lisa pat her shoulder, hears the crunch as Lisa reaches over to Iris's lap for a handful of popcorn. "No, you don't," she says confidently, and Caitlin makes a noise of frustration, presses her face more fully into Lisa's thigh.

 

"I hate horror movies and you're making me watch one," she grumbles, feels a hand stroke over her hair—she's certain it's Iris, not Lisa, who she can feel shaking with silent laughter. "Therefore, by the transitive property and _sheer spite_ , I hate you, too."

 

"It's not a scary horror movie," Iris offers, carefully collecting Caitlin's hair, sliding it back over her ear. Caitlin presses into the touch slightly, hears a bubble of laughter escape Lisa despite her best efforts. "It's more suspenseful. A little funny, too."

 

"There was blood," she points out, rolls over to gaze up at them. (Iris's hand hovers over her face, so she presses a kiss to the palm that turns Iris's cheeks slightly darker with a blush.)

 

Lisa's arm is draped along the back of the couch, just shy of touching Iris's shoulders, and she prods Caitlin's stomach, eyebrow raising in amusement. "You're a doctor."

 

"I'm not actually that kind of doctor," Caitlin tells her, sighs, catches Lisa's hand as she begins to lift it away, laces their fingers together. (Lisa's thumb runs over the ring still on Caitlin's finger, something unreadable in her eye, and Caitlin feels her own smile turn bittersweet. A litany of _I miss him I miss him I miss him_ flows through her mind, until Iris throws popcorn at the screen, booing over whatever just happened, and Lisa tosses back her head as she laughs, and one single, quiet _I want this_ rises into the forefront.)

 

Iris flops back, worms into Lisa's side, sets the bowl of popcorn aside, and Lisa squeezes Caitlin's hand slightly to draw her attention. "I didn't realize you weren't that kind of doctor," she says, gaze curious in that guarded way of hers.

 

"Well, I've had a bit of a crash course in that kind of doctoring over the last few years." Caitlin squeezes her hand back, smiles ruefully as Iris's eyes glance down to hers, the ever-present worry for Barry coming to the forefront of her gaze for one moment. "It's the position I've come to serve for Team Flash."

 

"So what kind of doctor _are_ you?" Lisa presses.

 

"Biochem." Caitlin reaches up with her free hand, ignores the awkward position as she squeezes Iris's knee. "Formulas and kinases and things of the sort."

 

Lisa hums, and Iris squeezes Caitlin's wrist before nudging her arm away, encouraging her to take the strain off of her rotator cuff. "Sounds science-y," Lisa says.

 

Caitlin huffs a laugh, turns on her side to press her cold nose against the strip of skin where Lisa's shirt has ridden up. "It is," she confirms, taking vague vicious pleasure in the way Lisa flinches involuntarily.

 

Lisa hums again, her thumb running over Caitlin's ring once more. "And you were married, too," she says, softly. "Weren't you?"

 

"For ten minutes, maybe," Caitlin whispers. (Iris's hand finds her hair again.) She squeezes her eyes shut though she doesn't feel any tears threatening, just in case. "And then he died," she finishes. (No tears come.)

 

"I had a fiancé," Lisa tells them. Iris's hand stills, Caitlin squeezes Lisa's tightly. "It was a long time ago," Lisa explains. "I don't really miss him anymore."

 

"Yes, you do," Caitlin murmurs.

 

Lisa laughs, softly. "Yeah, I do."

 

***

 

Someone pounds on the door, and Iris entertains thoughts of ignoring them until Lisa shouts out, "Open up, sweetcheeks! We brought ice cream!"

 

She tugs her blanket tighter around her shoulders, shuffles to the door as Caitlin calls out, "Come on, honey, we're worried about you." (A soft warmth spreads through Iris's stomach at the thought, and a smile teases her lips almost against her will. But there's a certain date on the calendar, a ring box tucked away in her sock drawer that keeps it from taking root.)

 

"I'm fine," Iris promises, throwing the door wide, stepping aside to let them in. "Barry was here until about an hour ago, and his bony little shoulders are perfect for crying into, his awkward platitudes strangely cathartic. I'm feeling better."

 

Lisa throws an arm around her shoulders, beams. "So we missed the sappy stuff? Excellent."

 

Caitlin huffs, smacks Lisa's side, and totters towards the kitchen, her arms full of a bag that either holds six gallons of ice cream or has several bottles of liquor and three quarts. "We're here for whatever you need, love," she states firmly. "Sappy stuff and all."

 

"Love?" Iris asks, closing her door with a soft click, and Caitlin freezes halfway through drawing a bottle of vodka out of the mystery bag. Lisa drops her chin onto Iris's head, threads arms around her waist, and Iris can just imagine the smirk that must be settled on her dark lips.

 

"Well," Caitlin says, awkwardly, drawing the vodka out slowly. There's tension in the lines of her shoulders, a forced nonchalance in her tone. "It's just a term of endearment, obviously, I don't mean—"

 

"I miss Eddie," Iris says, feels Lisa's arms tighten around her. (She pats one arm, smiles slightly though she knows neither of them can see right now.) "But I. I want this. If you guys do, too."

 

"I want this," Caitlin says, turns, smiling tentatively herself—her eyes flick up to Lisa's, her smile doesn't falter. Iris notices Caitlin's ring, on a chain around her neck instead of on her finger.

 

"You're both hot," Lisa drawls, shrugging, and Caitlin laughs as Iris smacks her, rolls her eyes. Lisa sighs, and Iris can feel the movement tight against her back, hear the wind pass softly through her lips. Caitlin's drifting closer to them, wringing her hands, hope in her eyes. "I want this," Lisa confirms.

 

"We're messy," Caitlin says.

 

"Broken," Iris agrees.

 

"Surviving," Lisa points out.

 

"Thriving," Caitlin corrects, slides her arms around the both of them.

 

"Thriving," Iris agrees, lets her head drop back against Lisa.

 

"Thriving," Lisa echoes, voice soft and vulnerable.

 


End file.
